On my bare neck that my hand, as swift as a flock of dark sparrows, caresses beneath the collar, let your red lips lay a final kiss. Oh, my beautiful sun, my Spanish night, come and stand before my tired eyes that will by noon be dead. Reach me. Hold my hand. Open the door and carry me away to our yellow fields. Soon the sky will shine bright, and the flowers will sigh among the grass, but I will be no more. Come, my scarlet sunset, my blonde basket, visit me tonight. Climb, bite, kill, but come. Lay your soft cheek on my shoulder before my time is up. We haven’t yet finished talking about love. Race through the hallways. Run fast. Swoop down the stairs as quick as a falcon, as smoothly as a mountain brook. Threaten and plead if needs be, but come, my white frigate, and reach me at least one hour before my death.